"Bright Lord save them," Ellysetta breathed, horror washing over her in an icy wave. "They're being hunted."

As soon as she said it, she knew she was right. Except the kitlings' hunter—whatever it was—wasn't making an outright attack. It was testing the kitlings' defenses, weakening them like a pack of thistlewolves driving a herd of sheep to exhaustion before moving in for the kill.

Rain stopped singing. His spine straightened. His face hardened to a mask of etched stone. "Mage?"

"I don't think so. It doesn't feel familiar."

"Ellysetta. Rain." They both turned at the sound of Marissya's voice. The shei'dalins face was pale, her mouth pulled back in a grimace of pain. "Something's wrong." Suddenly, she gave a cry and stumbled back away from the eggs, falling to her knees in the black sands. She hunched over, curling up into a ball, her arms wrapped around her waist.

"Marissya!" Ellysetta rushed to the shei'dalins side and dropped down beside her in the sand.

Fear stripped Ellie's mind of all Venarra's careful instructions about how to choose the threads and weave them in specific, controlled patterns. Instead, pure, desperate instinct took over as she reached for Marissya. Dear gods, help me. Let me heal her. The magic roared up in response, potent and vast. It poured into Marissya without caution or restraint, connecting the two of them with powerful, unchecked flows.

In that instant of unfettered connection, Ellysetta sensed a familiar, frightening consciousness, a distant, dark awareness that turned with sudden interest in her direction.

The skin over her heart went suddenly and icily cold. Horror coated her mouth with a bitter metallic tang. Oh, gods. Oh, gods, no.

Power inside her shifted with a swift, hard lunge, eager and fierce and furious. Magic fountained in a shocking response. It filled her in an instant, then billowed out in a blinding cloud before she could slam her shields tight.

The force flung her backwards, sprawling against Rain's legs.

"Ellysetta!" He grasped her arms and helped her right herself. "What is it? What just happened?

Before she could answer, the tairen screamed.

"Oh, no!" Ellysetta whirled back to the nest of tairen eggs, gathering her magic to fight, but the moment she peeled back her barriers, she knew she was already too late.

The enemy was gone, but he had not left in defeat.

Just moments ago, five tairen kitlings had shivered in their eggs. Now only four did so.

"No…oh, no…" Ellysetta ran to the motionless egg that belonged to Forrahl, the sweet little tairen whose egg rocked with joy when she sang to him. "Gods, please, teska. Don't do this." Summoning her power with desperate hope, she laid her hands upon the egg and spun the brightest healing weave she could summon.

This time, she sensed nothing. No whispering voices. No familiar evil. Just a dead, empty silence where before a precious kitling's voice had sung.

Eld ~ Boura Fell

Vadim Maur clutched the edges of the birthing table in a fierce grip as his servants carried the child to the cleansing pool. His hands and legs were trembling so hard he didn't dare release the table for fear of falling.

For the second time, Ellysetta Baristani had caught him by surprise. He'd sensed her presence mere instants before she'd sensed his, and if not for that brief advantage, her furious blast of power might have scorched him as it had once before. As it was, she'd sapped the strength from his limbs and forced him to flee to avoid serious injury.

She'd forced him to flee. Him. The High Mage of Eld.

The mere thought was an abomination.

The only consolation from tonight's near-disaster was the prize now held in his servants' arms. He turned his head to watch his umagi bathe the newborn infant. The child was another boy. Despite Ellysetta Baristani's interference and his abrupt departure from the Well, the binding had gone smoothly, without the violent battle he'd fought for Tyrkomel. Unfortunately, Vadim was also not nearly as certain of his success this time. The baby's eyes had not swirled with radiance as Tyrkomel's had when he emerged from his mother's womb.

Of course, this child had not torn his mother apart during his birth either. Fania was unconscious but unharmed. That was a victory of sorts. Even if the boy was not the fierce triumph Shia's son was, Fania would live to breed again.

"Bring him to me," he barked, and a servant hurried over to hold out the baby for his inspection.

At least the infant appeared Fey rather than mortal. His eyes were a clear, vibrant green with slightly elongated pupils, and though scarcely a quarter bell had passed since his birth, his skin had already assumed the pearlescent paleness of the Fey. He did not cry and flail about, nor object to the servants' careful yet brisk handling of him. Instead, he lay quietly, his bright eyes scanning the room with seeming intent.

Vadim bent closer. Deep within the pupils of the child's green eyes, Vadim glimpsed the shimmer of latent magic. He lifted one hand and summoned a small ball of Mage Fire. The child grew still, and his eyes focused on the concentrated glow of blue-white magic. Now the shimmer in the child's eyes grew more pronounced, magic rising in response to the presence of Mage Fire.

Satisfied, Vadim dissolved the glowing ball. Such a swift and unmistakable response bespoke substantial power. This child was gifted, considerably so. Fania had done well.

"He shall be called Coros." The name meant potential, not a certainty but a possibility. "Take him to the nursery and lay him beside Tyrkomel."